


Legolas Sized Lump

by SpaceAsthmatic



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cute, Family Fluff, Feels, Young Legolas Greenleaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:31:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceAsthmatic/pseuds/SpaceAsthmatic
Summary: Thranduil hasn't had a chance to spend any time with his son the past few weeks, but Legolas, missing his father too, takes matters into his own hands.





	Legolas Sized Lump

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I would really love to hear from you!

Thranduil had already sent Galion home several hours before when he too finally decided to call it a night. Most of the stronghold was also asleep, or at the very least all tucked away in their rooms to quietly enjoy their night, except for a group of young elves who still danced merrily under the stars in the garden. Several of Legolas’ friends were there, but the prince himself was not. 

 

He was a bit disappointed to discover this, he had barely seen his son at all the past several weeks and had hoped perhaps he could convince him to leave his friends and go for a walk. The archery master had upped their training in response to the reports of the huge Orc packs that were getting closer to their home, and so their training started even before breakfast, keeping Thranduil and his son from their customary morning meal together. The councils were running later and later into the night, also a courtesy of the Orcs, and then he had other Kingly duties to attend to on top of that. 

 

As a result, he had only seen his son in passing, and even those interactions were few and far between. 

 

Slowly he made his way to his room, pausing outside the door to Legolas’ room, contemplating if he should see if he was still awake. No light shawn from under the doorway, and there was a good chance that if his sleep was interrupted he would not be able to rest again afterward, and sleep was important for young Elves being forced to endure grueling training sessions. 

 

So with a somewhat heavy heart, Thranduil turned away from the door and finished his journey to his own room, pushing the door open werily. He was exhausted, truly and fully exhausted. It seemed during the day he did not have a single spare moment, and his nights were plagued with dreams of memories he would rather forget. 

 

He stepped inside, and immediately sensed that he was not alone. 

 

The sitting room was empty, aside from the fire cracking pleasantly in the hearth. Thranduil swiftly crossed the room and pulled his bedroom door open, spotting the Legolas sized lump buried beneath the covers immediately. He paused in the doorway, a smile touching his lips as the lump gave a gentle stir, sensing his father even in sleep. 

 

He took off most of his formal robes and threw them over the back of a chair to be dealt with later, and set his crown on a stand near the chair. Then, carefully he perched himself on the edge of his bed, his hand reaching out to rub gentle circles on his son’s back. 

 

The lump began stirring once more, and Thranduil gently peeled the blankets away to reveal sleepy blue eyes and even sleepier smile. He always slept with himself completely covered, no inch of him could be exposed to the air, he had been as such since he was an elfling. 

 

There were a few cuts on his face, and a dark bruise colored his left cheek which Thranduil ran his thumb across it softly as Legolas let out a mighty yawn, “Is it morning already?” 

 

Thranduil shook his head softly, “No, not just yet.” 

 

The young elf made a pleased hum sound at this news, and snuggled himself more comfortably in his father's bed, “You should be going to bed earlier, Ada.” 

 

“Yes, I probably should. Galion keeps telling me as such.” 

 

“You should listen to him.” 

 

“He keeps telling me that, too.” 

 

“I assume he is going to keep telling you until you finally listen to him.” 

 

“Yes, probably. He is stubborn.” 

 

“Like his King.” 

 

Thranduil spread his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I will not deny it.” 

 

“You  _ cannot  _ deny it.” 

 

He gave his son a sour expression, but inwardly his heart was singing. Pleased to finally see his son again, to hear his teasing and see his smile. Sleepy as it was. “You should not be sleeping with your hair braided.” 

 

Legolas yawned again, “I was too tired to take them out.” 

 

“Up,” Thranduil commanded, gesturing with his hand for Legolas to sit up. Begrudgingly he complied, lifting himself slowly into a sitting position next to his father with an immense groan. He was aware of his father snort of amusement but appeared not to care as he heaved another groan and leaned himself dramatically against his father’s side. 

 

“Every part of me hurts.” 

 

Nimble hands set to work at dissolving the braids with well-practiced speed, “A bit sore are we?” 

 

“Every night I fall asleep fully expecting to be paralyzed from the neck down in the morning.” Legolas turned to face his father fully, eyes wide in horror, “Have you heard his twenty percent rule?” 

 

“I have not.” 

 

Legolas adopted a surprisingly accurate expression of his archery masters stern face, speaking in an equally impressive impersonation, “The moment you feel like there isn’t a hope of continuing on, that is only twenty percent of the way to you actually not being able to. I expect you to reflect this in every aspect of your life.” 

 

This brought a delighted laugh from the King, who was not surprised in the least to discover this new rule, “Yes, that does sound like our dear Lord Ferdan.” 

 

“He’s going to kill me.” 

 

“Oh puh,” His hands moved to the final briad, “You are not going to die. You may  _ feel  _ as if you might, but he has had millennia of practice of not killing the elflings he trains.” 

 

“It is not training. It is torture.” 

 

“But it  _ is  _ effective.” 

 

“At killing me slowly.” 

 

Thranduil snorted again, the final braid came loose and he began to comb through the blond tresses with his fingers, gently working out the knots that had formed throughout the day. “Who gave you that wonderfully purple bruise?” 

 

“Farlen.” 

 

This news was not surprising, Legolas and Farlen had been thick as thieves all their lives, and had spent a good portion of that time playfully fighting with one another. It started as wrestling in the gardens when they were little but had grown to sparring matches and archery contests as they did. It seemed every time Thranduil turned around Legolas had some sort of new injury from their antics, usually bruises or scrapes but once or twice a broken bone. 

 

“You should see the one I gave him on his stomach, I got him with one of the staffs when we were sparring”

 

“I can imagine.” 

 

Feeling that his father was finally finished musing with his hair, Legolas threw himself back onto the bed and snuggled under the covers once more, “How are you, Ada?” 

Thranduil heaved a sigh that was nearly as dramatic as his sons groan had been, earning him a small smile from the young elf, “I am very tired, it seems every moment there is another crisis that needs attending to.” 

 

“I’ll trade you. You go to training and I’ll try and figure out the crisis’”    

 

“That was a nice try my son, but I have already suffered through my training, and I do not intend to do it again. Especially not under Ferdan.” 

 

“You’re cruel.” 

 

“No, I’m an annoyance. Ferdan is cruel.” 

 

“Ha! So you admit it! It is torture!” 

 

The king laughed, a deep happy laugh that was known for echoing down hallways and corridors, “I admit nothing, but I also deny nothing.”   

 

“Then I am taking that as confirmation that I’m right and you agree with me.” 

 

“Take it any way you like.” Legolas heaved another massive yawn, which in turn caused Thranduil to yawn just as mighty, “And what was wrong with you own bed tonight?” 

 

He shrugged his shoulders, “I wanted to see you. I figured if I waited here long enough you would eventually turn up.”   

 

This warmed Thranduil's heart a few more degrees, it was nice to hear that his son had wanted to see him as badly as he had wanted to see his son. This was not the first time Legolas had fallen asleep in his father's bed waiting for him, and it was likely it was not the last time either. 

 

As an elfling, he had spent far more time sleeping in his father's bed than his own, especially after his mother's death. The tiny elf had been plagued with nightmares, and still was to a certain degree, occasionally still if a nightmare shook him enough he would come and slip into his father's bed.

 

“And here I am.” 

 

“Here you are.” 

 

“You should go back to sleep, training comes early in the morning.”

 

Legolas gave him a thoroughly pitiful look, “But my bed is so  _ far  _ and everything hurts  _ so much _ and--” 

 

“Oh stop your whining, I am not asking you to leave.” Legolas hummed happily at this news, and then gave a small shout of surprise when his father nearly tossed him to the other side of the bed, “You just cannot have my side of the bed.” 


End file.
